


this dark light we dream in

by ultraviolence



Series: the horror and beauty of your eyes burn between [vampire au] [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Prototype: Fragments of Sky Silver, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Atmospheric Buildup, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Teasing, there's a tiny hint of Arthur/Morgan but that's all in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: Lucius Tiberius is a man with a mission, arriving in a particular mansion with a very specific business in mind, and nothing else. But what is it about the lord of the house that captivates him so?AU. Part one of four.





	this dark light we dream in

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this since April, and...well, this is it. Part one is more about the buildup than the actual meat and bones of the story, so this is really more of an extended overture than anything. The rating might change for the next part, and there will most likely be additional warnings, but that's for later.
> 
> I'm extremely fond of Crimson Peak and (to some degree) the aesthetics of The Lodgers, so...this is really my attempt of a poor rendition, except with vampires and less gore lmao.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The house loomed before him, a monster waiting to swallow unsuspecting innocents whole. It was even bigger up close, with windows like eyes, peering down on him darkly. If he were a lesser man, he would even say that there is something of a malicious intent emanating from the house, but he wasn’t easily intimidated. 

Lucius Tiberius came here for one thing, and he’s not going to back down until he achieved it.

He could almost hear his knocks reverberating through the hallways of the mansion, a heavy sound, rousing the house and its inhabitants from deep slumber. The evening was still young, a reddish hue still darkening into purple in the west, as if a great beast had died and was bleeding out into nothingness. The air was chilly, colder out here in the countryside, purer, and his long, dark coat flopped lightly behind him.

He knocked three times, and waited.

An elderly man opened the twin doors—which creaked open with a great sigh—and waited for him to state his business. The hallway behind him was mostly dark, a mysterious passageway leading to the belly of the beast. A lesser man would have quailed at the thought of it, but Lucius was no such man.

“I’m here to see the master of the house,” he told the elderly butler, confidently, flashing him a cocky smile. “Personal business, you see.”

The old man gave him one more look, before bowing slightly and moved aside to let him step inside. Once Lucius stepped passed the threshold and the doors were closed behind him, the old man gestured at him to take off his coat, and, once he does, hangs it in a nearly-unseen hanger near the doors. Then he took the lead, moving past him, guiding him into the dark belly of the house. He doesn’t speak much, but that doesn’t bother Lucius much—if anything, that was all the better. He was here for one thing, and one thing only.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the half-dark, he could see that the hallway were lined in antiques and portraits—precious and priceless, no doubt, and he had an inkling of the rich, storied lineage who inhabits the mansion—all glories of the past, all phantoms that danced before him, but he kept his gaze fixed forward, to where they were heading.

The elderly butler led him to a spacious dining room, decorated in the same style as the hallway. All the blinds were closed, but it was illuminated by a faint, electric light, and, although it shares the same dark, mysterious countenance as the rest of the house (or so it seems), it was quite well-lit. 

It was strangely empty, however, and, despite the hour of dinner fast approaching, the tables are not set, and there was a quality to the room, a certain emptiness, that makes him think that it hasn’t been used in a while.

The old man beckons him to sit, and he does, seating himself at one end of the long table. 

“Please wait here,” the elderly man said. “They will be here with you soon.”

_They_ , he noted, smiling privately to himself. _So there is more than one of them_.

He gave the old man his assent, and the elderly butler gave him another slight bow, before vanishing into the monstrous darkness of the house.

Lucius leaned back on his seat, making himself comfortable. The sun had just set a while ago, so it’s possible that he might wait for a while. In the meanwhile, he will wait, while a part of him reviewed his plan mentally, although he felt that it really wasn’t necessary. He’d been in this business for a while, he was confident of himself and his skills. 

He doesn’t know how long he waited—he briefly drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair he’s sitting in—but when they arrived, they arrived silently, their footsteps muffled against the carpeted floor, as if gliding across it, and Lucius pretended that he wasn’t interested until they were directly in his line of sight, standing across him on the other end of the long table.

‘They’ were a pair, a young woman and a young man, not far in age as appearances are concerned—the woman looks a little bit older than the man—and, standing side-by-side, they were a contrast, despite their shared colouring and fine, aristocratic features.

She is a great beauty, with long, lustrous blonde hair reaching her waist, her beauty that of great women from ages long past, and, combined with her elegant crimson dress, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a vintage photograph herself, or one of the paintings that lined the hallway. 

But he is the one who caught his eye.

Under the artificial light of the room, his golden hair seemed to shine faintly, offsetting the dark suit that he was wearing. Something about him seemed slightly out-of-place, as if he wasn’t supposed to be here in this dark, monstrous underbelly of the house, or anywhere near the mansion at all, but out there in the world, under the sunlight, smiling and laughing.

The image struck Lucius like lightning out of nowhere, but no smile touched the man’s handsome features when he took his seat on the head of the table, opposite him in the long table, and his pale complexion—something else that he shares with the woman—certainly says volumes about his relationship with sunlight.

Still, in another era, he would have been a shining knight, or a prince from a storybook.

The woman followed his lead, and sat on his left. A silence follows, as the two inhabitants of the house and him studied each other.

“So…am I talking to the master of the house—“ his eyes lingered on the golden-haired man across him, testing the waters—even if it’s obvious from their seating order—before shifting his gaze to the woman, who was looking back at him with a sharper, haughtier glint in her eyes compared to the man’s gaze, “—or was it the mistress?”

The woman spoke first. 

“I suppose we should first introduce ourselves, shouldn’t we?” she said, her voice rich and thick as evening’s clenched jaws, and, in the faintly luminous light of the dining room, he noticed that her green eyes were lighter than the man’s. There was something decidedly poison-like about it, and Lucius immediately filed her as a force to be reckoned with. “But before then…we don’t have much guests coming to visit us here, and I am told that you know father.”

“Ah, yes. So I see that my letter _did_ reach you, after all,” he said, focusing his gaze on her, but noticing, through the corner of his eye, that the man was following their conversation intently, even if he was leaning away from her, whether consciously or unconsciously. Lucius wondered, briefly, about their relationship. “I was trying to get ahold of you through phone, but your landline seemed to have been disconnected, and you don’t seem to possess a mobile phone.”

“We did read your letter, yes,” she replied, dismissively. “But that was beside the point. You said you know father, and that you are empowered to read and carry out his will, since some misfortune seemed to have befallen old George. What about it?”

“I am truly sorry about what happened to your old lawyer,” Lucius said, with a smile, leaning forward. He looked at the other man for a moment, trying to silently coax him into joining the conversation, but he remained silent. “But yes, everything you said is true. I am here with your father’s will.” He paused, letting his words sink in. The man seemed impassive, unreadable. Almost impenetrable. “Before we properly get into business, however…I need to know who I’m speaking to.”

Emotions danced in the woman’s green eyes, under the light—Lucius didn’t know what, and didn’t care to give them proper names—and she seemed…almost angry, which amused him, but she retained her composure when she speaks.

Or, at least, she tried to, because the man finally jumped into the fray and broke his observant silence.

“I apologise for my sister,” he said, his voice ringing out clear as day in the spacious dining room. It has a kingly, commanding quality to it, despite his youthful appearance. “She’s right. We rarely receive any guests here, and therefore we do not know how to properly treat them. But…” he trailed off for a bit, and Lucius noticed that the woman his sister was shooting him a dark glare from the side. If he noticed, however, he didn’t show it or falter in any way, instead forging forward. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I’m Arthur Pendragon, master of the house. And this is—“ he gestured towards the woman beside him, whose expression had reverted into something calculating, “—my sister, Morgan Le Fay.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she muttered, giving him something approaching a smile, though it could not be called that, since she was clearly hiding something underneath it. He supposed she was trying to intimidate him, but it was obviously not working. Ignoring her outright, he shifted his gaze back to the man seated beside her.

“Ah, so you’re the heir of the Pendragon bloodline,” Lucius said, tilting his head slightly, examining the golden-haired man. He let his eyes linger on his deep green eyes, the curve of his lips, the jot of his Adam’s apple on his pale throat. He felt something flutter, deep inside of him. “I wasn’t told that the master of the house would be so…lovely.”

_Enticing_ would be a more apt word, but he restrained himself, remembering his purpose. He needed to gain their trust if he was to do what he came here to do, and provoking them so early in the game—even if it is very tempting to do so, looking at the man sitting on the head of the table—just would not do. 

Lucius gave the man a broad smile with just the merest hint of flirtation, watching as a faint red colour slowly spread across Arthur’s cheeks. The splash of blood was just enough to tease his imagination—he wondered how it would feel like, to bruise that pale skin of his, to leave a mark…

Morgan cleared her throat. Lucius shifted his gaze to her with a slight grin.

“I apologise, my lady. I got carried away. Since we are getting acquainted with each other…” he gave them a slight flourish, bowing slightly. “You may call me Lucius. I am here on behalf of your lawyer, since he was unable to make the journey here, as you already know.”

Their eyes danced with skepticism, in different degrees—it was thicker with Morgan, evident in her snakelike eyes, like blood, combined with the usual doubt and paranoia, but a similar procession takes place in Arthur’s expression, albeit more subdued, and there was something else, something that he couldn’t quite identify just yet, something like hope, oddly—and he waited, watched as Morgan slowly lays her hand on her brother’s arm. The moment only occupies a fraction of a second, yet Lucius noticed that Arthur—for all their perceived closeness—winced at her touch, as if it burned. 

It was clear that their relationship was a smokescreen—which makes things all the more interesting, although he could care less about these creatures—but what exactly was underneath it, remained largely a mystery for the time being. 

“Would you care to show us the letter of introduction you mentioned, from our lawyer?” Morgan, ever the doubtful one, cast her voice upon the silence that follows. “You see, as much as we’d like to take you on your word…we simply don’t know you. We don’t know yet whether or not we can trust you, and it’s been a while since we trusted outsiders.”

_Outsiders_ , he thought, what an interesting choice of word. Still, he gave her a reassuring smile, and looked at Arthur for approval—or for him to contradict Morgan’s words, which would make things a lot more interesting—but the other man simply looked at him in stony silence.

“Of course, my lady,” he told her, and immediately produced the aforementioned letter from his suit jacket’s pocket. He’d predicted this, and had prepared accordingly. He rose from his seat, and handed it over to her.

He felt Arthur’s eyes on his back, studying him as he made his way back to his seat, and Lucius slowed down, only ever so noticeably, infusing his walk with a little swagger that he’d had practised so well. _Let him look_ , he thought, daring him to return his gaze when he seated himself back. 

Interestingly, Arthur refused to meet the full force of his gaze, but Lucius couldn’t fully blame him.

Morgan had handed Arthur the letter, and he’d unfolded it. She leaned in, just as eager to read its contents as he was, and for a moment silence once more filled the room, as both of them studied it, fierce green eyes fixed upon the missive, and Lucius took the time to examine them more closely.

She was going to be the main problem, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t know yet about Arthur. He couldn’t gauge him, couldn’t place him, and, more importantly…the flutter of attraction that he felt towards him was very much real and tangible, and he could still feel the pull of it whenever he glanced at him.

_This is going to be a problem_ , he thought, just in time as Arthur raised his gaze from the letter and folded it.

“You have our trust and hospitality for the time being,” he said, in a softer tone than the one he issued before, although Lucius could sense that it masked something else, though it was carefully hidden. “Welcome to our home. We don’t have much, but we’ll do everything in our power to make your stay here comfortable.”

Morgan doesn’t really like this and was plotting something, from the look of it, but Lucius opted to ignore her. So long as he had the favour of the lord of the house, she most likely couldn’t do anything against him.

“Thank you,” he told him, dipping his head slightly. He hated having to scrap and bow to anyone, but he needed to play their little game, for the time being. “You are most gracious, Lord Pendragon. Perhaps we could dine together? It had been a long and tiresome journey, after all.”

“Yes, I rather understand that it must have been a tiring journey for you,” Morgan cuts in before her brother could say anything, her tone sharp. “However, I’m afraid we could not dine with you. We have more important matters to talk about, my brother and I.”

Arthur darted a quick glance at her—Lucius could read exhaustion and a strange whiff of something like fear—to her insistent hand on his arm, before he settled on Lucius’s deep purple gaze. 

“Yes,” the golden-haired man said, nodding slowly. “My sister is right. As much as I’d like to stay and keep you company, unfortunately, we can’t do that. My apologies.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow, noting Morgan’s triumphant expression. _Curious and curiouser_.

“Please, don’t let me get in the way of your other businesses,” he said, giving them a practised smile, even if he felt a pang of disappointment. The invitation was a gamble at best, and he doesn’t really want to suffer any more of Morgan’s company, but Arthur was a curious case, and in the off chance that he accept, Lucius would absolutely welcome the prospect. “I trust that we will see each other again soon enough, yes?”

“Tomorrow evening,” Arthur said, rising from his seat, and his sister followed suit. “After dinner. Our servants will take care of everything for you. They will also explain the rules of the house. Now please, wait here. I’ll have them serve some food for you.”

“Many thanks,” Lucius replied, giving him—and only him—a cocksure smile, one that will guarantee to set his blood racing, but Arthur merely gave him a stiff nod.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Morgan interjected, smiling almost sweetly, linking her arm with her brother’s, and they left the room, just as silently as they arrived.

The long, deep silence of the house encroached upon the room once more after they left, but he paid it no heed, for he was replaying the meeting in his mind.

The mystery was only beginning.

* * *

Evening the next day was a solemn affair, and he watched the sun set from the window of the guest room that had been given to him, smoking a cigarette, watching as the last rays of the dying sun slowly disappeared below the darkening horizon. It wasn’t his first cigarette, and Lucius spent the day cooped up in his room, since he’d been told that he wasn’t allowed to wander the grounds before the sun sets. 

Typical.

Dinner, like breakfast and lunch, was served to him in his quarters, and, although it makes no difference to him, he still felt somewhat grateful for that, since he wasn’t all that interested in dining alone in the large dining room. 

After dinner, one of the servants appeared—he’d noticed that there were only a few of them, for a house so big—and ushered him through the half-dark hallways, to a room with a large wooden door. 

She told him that her master was already waiting for him inside, and Lucius opened the door.

Inside was a study that he supposed was impressive, in a way, but, like the rest of the house, there was a far-off, monochrome quality to it, like an old photograph gone wrong, or, put it more aptly and simply, this was a place that had seen better days. It was well-kept, at least, and the light gave off a warmer quality than the one in the dining room. There was no fire burning in the fireplace, but it was quite easy to picture that, during the height of winter, it crackles and burns with light and heat.

Arthur sat on the large chair that occupies the centre of the room, behind a large wooden desk, alone.

Lucius closed the door behind him and strode in, meeting his gaze head-on. Arthur’s expression was flat, unreadable, all business, but Lucius, determined to get underneath his armour now, gave him a small grin, and stopped just before the empty seat across from him.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long, Lord Pendragon,” he told him, inclining his head slightly. 

“Call me Arthur,” the smaller man said, tilting his head a little to better look at him, sizing him up. “Lord Pendragon was my late father. And please,” he gestured towards the empty seat across from him, “sit.”

“Arthur,” Lucius said, trying his name on his tongue like a new delicacy, “I’m truly sorry about your father. But his mantle now falls to you, isn’t it?” He pointed out, nearly casually, watching as Arthur’s shoulders stiffened for a moment before pulling the empty chair across from him and seated himself there, putting the small briefcase that he was carrying near his feet. “After all, that is why I’m here.”

“…before we get into business, would you like a drink?” Arthur offered, completely avoiding the question. Lucius raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it slide.

“I’ll have what you have,” he said, lazily, a challenge. Arthur’s eyes seemed to harden, two emerald points under the artificial light. Lucius met his gaze head-on, unafraid. 

“I don’t drink,” Arthur said, flatly. “But I’ve prepared our finest wine for you, just in case. Would that be to your liking?” he gestured towards a small table set up nearby, where—as he says—a bottle of wine was sitting, along with a couple other drinks that he recognised. He noticed that there is indeed only one glass, and he hid a small, private laugh—they couldn’t have been more predictable. But there is still a mystery to solve here. “If that is not to your taste, there is also whiskey, and several others, as you can see.”

“No, no, wine would be fine,” Lucius immediately responded, giving him a wry smile. He waited until Arthur raised himself from his seat—in one graceful manner—and made his way towards the small table before asking his next question. “Will your sister be joining us tonight?”

Lucius watched him closely for a reaction, but Arthur remained impassive as he poured the wine into the singular, lonely glass, the deep liquid gushing out of the opaque bottle like a messenger from the stygian depths.

“No,” the master of the house said, nonchalantly, handing his guest the glass of wine. “She has her own matters to attend to. She is, after all, the lady of the house.”

His fingers, when he handed the glass to him, were just as pale and elegant as the rest of him, and Lucius wondered for a moment how it feels like to hold them in his own, but he did not let his fantasy go beyond that, not yet.

“Thank you,” he told him, accepting the glass. He did not take a sip—a careful one—until Arthur has returned to his seat. “That is a shame to hear, but—“ he studied him languidly, and gave him a flashy smile. “I would certainly enjoy your company for the evening.”

He thought that Arthur bristled, for a second, at the look and the smile, but if it happened, it didn’t last long. Arthur leaned back on his chair, seemingly unimpressed, looking at him directly.

“If you don’t mind, Lucius, let us start talking business,” he said, completely ignoring what the other man had just said, but Lucius doesn’t feel dissuaded, not in the slightest. “May we start looking at the will?”

“Ah, yes,” Lucius answered, taking the small briefcase and putting it up on the table. “That is what we are here for, after all. I must warn you, however…” he immediately felt the full force of Arthur’s attention on him, like a dark sun, and he felt himself pause—an obligatory one—his hands hovering above the case as he thought about the first time he read the letter. It would be interesting to see Arthur’s reaction. “It is…unintelligible in some places. We do not know why.”

He had his own theories, of course, but that was for later. _If_ they ever get to that.

“Open it,” Arthur commanded, with a jot of his chin, and Lucius obeyed. He opened the briefcase, revealing the letter and a couple of documents, which was real enough, and was given to him by the supposedly ailing lawyer. He pulled the letter from the top of the stack, and offered it to him.

“Your lawyer told me that your father wrote this before he died,” Lucius told him, as Arthur took the document from his hand. “It is in his own hand.”

He was hoping that Arthur would shed some light on their relationship, or at least regale him with some pointless anecdote about his father, but the man simply took the letter into his hand and started reading it. 

Silence, which always seem to skulk eternally in the shadow of the great house, transpired between them as the man sitting across him focused his attention on the document, trying to absorb its meaning. Lucius watched him closely, noticing the manner in which his brow creases and his lips frowned, as his eyes slowly scanned the letter. He did not disturb him, instead busying himself with his wine, though his gaze rarely left him.

It was a while before Arthur speaks again.

“You were right,” he said, his clear voice a loud whisper. “It _is_ unintelligible in places. And yet…I cannot believe that this is written by someone else but him,” he slowly folded the paper, places it on his lap. “This seems to be real enough.”

“Hmm,” Lucius deliberately raised his glass into his lips, took a sip before he continued. “Then what do you think of it, Arthur?”

Arthur took a moment to consider his question carefully, his expression remained just as guarded, and yet for a moment Lucius saw the flash of strange hope that he saw the evening before, when they’d just met in the dining room, like a glimmer of distant light in the night sky.

“If selling the house is what he wanted, and if you are to examine the state of the property before doing so, then I would have no choice but to comply with his will,” Arthur stated, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “That is the sensible thing to do, is it not?”

Lucius tilted his head slightly, leaning back into his seat. 

“Of course it is,” he replied, agreeable enough, but, like a shark smelling blood in the water, he made his move. “Still, you must have your own wish, Arthur.”

He leaned forward again, placing a hand on the table, a thin, conspiratorial smile on his lips. It is not hard to deduce that, behind the mask that the other man wears, there is something—something that possibly yearns for something else, something more. 

This seems to take Arthur by surprise, and for a second, he seemed to waver, hidden emotions flashing in his eyes, a kaleidoscopic ride too fast for Lucius to follow, but his expression hardens—again—in the aftermath.

“Even if I do,” Arthur said, every syllable planned and calculated, though Lucius didn’t fail to notice how he swallowed and avoided his gaze, “that doesn’t matter. That is all there is to it.”

_No, it really doesn’t_ , Lucius thought, but smiled in the wake of his words, pulling himself back. 

“If you say so,” he told him, lightly. “I’m planning to start the venture tomorrow evening. With your permission, of course,” he added, and, as an idea flashed in his mind like lightning during a thunderstorm, he quickly seized it. “And perhaps you would like to accompany me? Providing that you are not busy.”

It was another bold move—though he almost grinned at the thought of it—and he expected Arthur would refuse, but it was worth trying. One way or another, he would get to the bottom of the mystery, and slip under Arthur’s armour. He was Lucius Tiberius: he never fails, and no one could say no to him, not for long.

Arthur, again, looked surprised at this proposal—perhaps more at the boldness of it than the proposal itself—and this time, he seemed to be genuinely unsure of what to do.

“Yes, you have my permission,” he answered, pausing afterwards. “As for your proposal…I don’t think it’s going to hurt if I say yes,” he told Lucius, though there was a hidden undertone to his voice, something that smells like defiance, somehow, “after all, this house can be confusing to outsiders.”

Lucius couldn’t hold back a triumphant smile.

“Then I promise I would make it worth your time,” he says, already turning his thoughts towards their next meeting.

* * *

That night, he allowed his imagination to take flight.

Rarely does anyone could hold his attention so strongly, much more enchant his imagination with such a magnetic pull, but Arthur Pendragon did both effortlessly, and with flying colours. 

A man of passion, Lucius rarely hold himself back. This time was no different: even if he knows that they were meant to be enemies, Arthur being his quarry—though it doesn’t seem like the other man knows—and that the others in his profession would say it’s wrong, he doesn’t care. He followed his own moral code, and lived life the way he wanted. Of course, it could potentially jeopardise everything he’d worked for up to this point, and in fact the mere realisation of him being attracted to one of them changed everything, but Lucius liked a little danger.

The more of it, the better.

He lay in his borrowed four-poster bed that night, chain-smoking as all hell, his shirt laying crumpled on a chair nearby. It wasn’t long until his mind went to the meeting in the study that evening.

The man sitting behind the desk. So close, and yet so untouchable, but there are moments, silent, strange moments when Lucius could observe his vulnerability, which was oddly…human. _Could monsters be called humans?_

Once, he thought that the answer was clear-cut. It was law of the jungle, pure and simple: the strongest survive, and rule. Kill first, or be killed. 

Pushing the conundrum aside, he let his mind replayed the sensation he felt when he first saw him: fascination. Raw attraction. After their introduction… _curiosity_. Arthur was lovely when he blushed, but even more so when he tried to deny the magnetic attraction between them.

It wasn’t hard, then. Lucius unzipped his trousers, pushing a hand down his underwear, his other hand putting his half-smoked cig on the ashtray on the small table beside the bed. Would he allow those fleeting moments of vulnerability to shine through, if— _when_ —he bared himself to him? He suppressed a smirk at the thought, as his fingers stroke his length. 

It was a fleeting dream, thinking of Arthur underneath him, pale flesh all bruised from his teeth and lips and nails, fucking him raw on his desk in his late father’s study, but it was a good dream, nonetheless, and soon, Lucius rolled to his side, satisfied.

That night, he doesn’t dream.

* * *

He watched the sun in its dying procession again on the third day. 

He was more than eager to get out of his room and stretch his muscles, but even more so to get on with the appointment of the evening. He’d just finished dinner and gotten dressed when he heard a knock on the door—a cordial, precise knock, not muted like the maid’s the previous night, and he, almost immediately after, opened it.

Arthur stood behind the door, dressed in another elegant dark suit, waiting for him.

“You’re early,” Lucius said, tilting his head slightly, taking him in. Like his sister, he was a walking vision of another era, tastefully embodying the title he’d inherited—which most would consider an outdated remnant of the past in this day and age, though the house, and the inhabitants within it, seems to have been suspended in a state untouched by both—but unlike his sister, there exists a humane quality within him, which Lucius found to be ironic. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Am I?” Arthur replied, eyebrow raised very slightly. Lucius fancied that he saw the ghost of a smile, but it was a fleeting thing, too fast for him to capture. “Did I interrupt something?”

“If you do, it is a very welcome interruption,” he told him, smiling lazily. _You’re a very welcome interruption_ , he thought, but he restrained himself. “There isn’t much to do here to wait until evening, after all. No TV, or anything like that.”

“Ah, sorry about that. My sister isn’t very…fond of technology, I should say,” Arthur said, giving him a small, apologetic smile. It was the first real smile that he gave him—or something approaching that—something else aside from the reserved front that he’d been giving him ever since he arrived, and Lucius was fascinated. “Should we…” Arthur glanced at the partially lit hallway after a slight pause, gesturing towards it, “…perhaps get going?”

“By all means,” he said. “Let us go.”

“I was thinking maybe we could start with the east wing,” Arthur mused, as they started to walk. He is still keeping his distance, Lucius noted, strolling alongside him a little distance away, all but maintaining an invisible wall between them. He wasn’t sure if it was something the smaller man did unconsciously, or if it was a conscious decision. There was a slightly nervous air about him, too—it’s been there ever since their conversation in the study the evening before, though it is more pronounced now—either as if he was afraid that Lucius would suddenly reach out and touch him, or as if he was anxious about what’s to come. “It should be quite well-kept. Perhaps you’d find something of interest there.”

_Perhaps_ , he thought, fleetingly, keeping his gaze fixed on Arthur, and another thought occurred to mind.

“What kind of things did you do to pass the time?” he asked, an innocent and safe enough question, out of pure curiosity than anything. “I don’t suppose you have a TV or the like stashed somewhere, since you mentioned that your sister wasn’t very fond of technology.”

“Oh,” Arthur responded, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. The shadows in the hallway seem to dance and sway underneath their footsteps, a murky, Schröedinger’s creature that scurries away from their gaze, and, it seemed to Lucius that Arthur lit up the liminal space with an inner light of some sort—though of course this part was purely his imagination alone—but he didn’t pay it much attention. All of his attention was focused on the golden-haired man beside him, the enigma that he’s dying to solve. “Well…um…my father used to teach me swordplay when he was still here,” he explained, brows furrowing. “And I still practice that. There’s also the library. I could take you there tomorrow.”

Another thought occurred in Lucius’s mind—a bold, mad thought, without a doubt—and it brought an amused smile to his lips, but he didn’t say anything about it to him. Not yet.

“Huh. I much prefer firearms myself, but there’s nothing quite like the heft of a sword,” he told him, a cocky grin spreading on his lips. “I suppose asking to watch you practise is too much to ask?” 

There—the surprised look, quickly replaced by a guarded one. Lucius’s grin mellowed into a smile, but he persisted.

“I- I don’t know. We’ll see,” Arthur finally said, averting his gaze. His silence told him that it is final, and Lucius didn’t press the matter further.

* * *

Nothing was of much interest to him, as he’d expected, just dusty rooms that once had their moment in the sun, phantoms slumbering their long, final sleep, and portraits and paintings that might have had stories behind them, but he liked hearing Arthur talk, and as they gradually went deeper and deeper into the wing, as the evening deepening into proper night outside, enveloping the house in its austere, nebulous embrace, the other man slowly, evidently, began to feel more at ease around him.

The final room in the wing lays on the far end of it, the singular door at the end of the hallway still in its quiet repose, silently beckoning them to enter.

Arthur rested his hand on the door as if it was an old friend, hesitating. This close, standing behind him, Lucius could smell a faint hint of his perfume, a surprisingly light, airy concoction—in contrast with the aesthetics of his dark clothing—but there was a weight behind it, unmistakeable though hidden, and he imagined there was a whiff of his skin underneath it all, an elusive, enigmatic scent. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, aware of the sudden change in mood. Arthur seemed to be deep in thought, for a moment—but he turned around, slightly, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he says. “Shall we go in?”

Lucius gave him a nod, wondering what it was that was on his mind, and Arthur smiled, slightly, hauntingly, before he turned around and opened the door.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, as always, comments and suggestions are welcome!


End file.
